The monk's robes, patched and faded from years of wandering, fluttered faintly as he resumed his trek to the Jade Hollow Plains, his long staff still dragged on the ground, leaving a long line.
The Conduit Tower loomed ahead, pulsating with foreign energy that was opposed to the natural spiritual currents of the realm. His weathered hands clasped together, thumbs brushing the worn beads of his prayer string, and a soft chant escaped his lips.
"Amitabha. An arduous trial of fate, woven into our realm. Yet it carried over foreign influence." His gaze drifted to the top of the tower and the ship constructs that he could make out floating from the distance. "It must be destroyed, no matter how great the boon it offers."
The monk's steps were unhurried as he crossed the plains, his spiritual senses attuned to the subtle shifts in the air.
